My Unfaithful Wife Demanded My Entire Tech Empire Not Knowing I Had Already Turned It Into A Poisoned Chalice

Three days later, I was in a secluded cabin in the Pacific Northwest. Chloe was outside, sketching the treeline, oblivious to the fact that her mother had traded her for a tech company. My phone buzzed incessantly on the wooden table. It was Elias, my attorney.

"She signed it, Julian. She practically grabbed the pen out of my hand. Sterling was grinning like he’d just won the lottery," Elias said, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and concern. "But are you sure about this? You’ve effectively rendered yourself 'bankrupt' on paper."

"I’m not bankrupt, Elias. I’m unburdened," I replied, watching a hawk circle the lake. "Is the transfer of the Cayman accounts complete?"

"Yes. She has full control. She’s already changed the passwords."

"Good. And the Aegis Tech debt restructuring?"

"Finalized yesterday. On paper, the company is worth four billion. In reality, with the pending litigation from the European Union—the one I leaked to their regulators last week—it’s a ticking time bomb of fines and liabilities."

I hung up. Now, the waiting game began. Vivienne didn't understand technology, and she certainly didn't understand the legal complexities of international data privacy. She thought Aegis Tech was a money-printing machine. She didn't know it was currently facing a three-billion-dollar class-action lawsuit that I had quietly "failed" to settle before the divorce.

By the end of the week, the calls started. Not from lawyers, but from Vivienne herself. I ignored the first ten. On the eleventh, I picked up.

"Julian! What the hell is this?" she screamed. I could hear the sound of papers being shuffled frantically. "I just got a notice from the SEC. And the London office says our accounts are frozen!"

"Not 'our' accounts, Vivienne," I said, my voice as smooth as silk. "Your accounts. You demanded full ownership. You told the judge you were 'the brains' behind the lifestyle. Surely a genius like you can handle a little regulatory audit?"

"You set me up!" she hissed. "I’ll sue you for fraud! I’ll tell everyone you hid the truth!"

"Good luck with that," I leaned back, looking at the fireplace. "The 'truth' was in the 4,000-page disclosure document your lawyer, Sterling, signed off on. If he didn't read the section on 'Pending Global Liabilities,' that’s a malpractice suit for him, not a fraud case for me. You wanted the empire, Vivienne. Welcome to the throne. It’s a bit hot, isn't it?"

I hung up before she could respond. The cliffhanger wasn't whether she would lose the money—that was a mathematical certainty. The cliffhanger was Marcus. My former COO, her lover, was about to find out that the woman he betrayed me for was no longer a golden goose, but a debt-ridden anchor.

And Marcus wasn't the type of man to stay on a sinking ship.